


The Snare

by partypaprika



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-16 03:33:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13045626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/partypaprika/pseuds/partypaprika
Summary: Sounis has pushed Attolia to her country's limits and threatens to overrun her army, leaving Attolia with no choice but to ally with the Medes.--A canon-divergent AU





	The Snare

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neutrophilic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neutrophilic/gifts).



> To [neutrophilic](), I hope that you enjoy it!

The news came during an afternoon meeting while Attolia heard her officers report their latest news. The throne room at Iolcebes reflected its comparative irrelevance in Attolia, barely larger than her audience chamber to her rooms in the capital, a simple mosaic in blue and white adorning the wall. Baron Iolcebes doubtless assumed that his fortress would not be a place that saw many visitors, placed as it was in the middle of farmland between the two arms of the Separchia and Aracthus. But Sounis had begun a bombardment of Ephrata, perhaps hoping to catch Attolia in a moment of weakness. If so, then he had made a misstep as Attolia’s spies had warned her with enough time to move her court to Iolcebes while her army engaged at Ephrata.

From her seat on the throne, Attolia saw General Lycomedes’ secretary step into the room, his face tight. Attolia kept her face still as the secretary made his way through the officers until he reached Lycomedes where he knelt and whispered in the general’s ear.

When Lycomedes faced the queen, she knew what he was going to say. “Sounis has attacked the capital.”

Attolia couldn’t breathe for a second at the shock of it and then she nodded once, crisply, as if she had expected such news.

“Please admit Nahuseresh,” Attolia said and Elia slipped out the front door to the throne room. No one dared speak while Attolia and her officers waited for the Mede to arrive. When he did, he pushed past Attolia’s hard-won officers as if they barely existed, and the queen dismissed the officers and men in the throne room.

“I have heard the news, Your Majesty,” Nahuseresh said, his face carefully ordered into concern. “I came immediately to see if I could offer my assistance.”

The queen stood from the throne and descended down the dais, placing herself close enough to the Mede that she looked up at him, extending her hand for Nahuseresh to bow over.

“My dear,” Nahuseresh said, squeezing her hand gently, “Please say that word and you have me at your command.”

Attolia had spent almost half of her life fighting for her throne and her kingdom. In that moment, she hated Nahuseresh with a violence, but there was little that she wouldn’t do to save Attolia.

“I’m afraid that I must say yes,” Attolia said.

There was a spark of triumph in Nahuseresh’s eyes. “Very wise, Your Majesty,” he said. “And I will pledge my full power to you. I must tell you, however, I am able to personally only command a small force, all of which is at your disposal. But were there to be an understanding between us, the Emperor would gladly lend additional support.”

The queen gently smiled, her hands loose and warm in the Mede’s hands. “Yes, Nahuseresh, I think that there is an understanding indeed.” 

 

 

The minister of war addressed the queen’s council in the map room. Eugenides sat in the back, letting the wall shoulder most of his weight, as had become his past time over each of the war council meetings convened since Eugenides had officially removed himself from seclusion.

The minister of war showed the council members where Sounis’ latest attacks had been. “We cannot be certain as to where Sounis procured the additional forces or funds, but we believe that it is likely from the Medes.”

Eddis looked down at the detailed map of Attolia, inked out in front of her, and lightly traced each place that Sounis had attacked. “Do you believe that he will be able to capture Attolia’s capital?” 

The minister of war was quiet. “Unchecked, yes. Attolia’s forces are spread too thin to defend effectively. However, should the Medes step in, it is likely that she will be able to repel Sounis.”

“And she has agreed to an alliance with them,” Eddis said, her voice low, but carrying clearly over the men seated around the table.

“I believe so,” the minister of war said.

“It is her only choice,” another counselor added. Eddis stared down at the various maps spread before for a long time. The maps reflected the cumulative knowledge of hundreds of years of the Eddisians, Attolians and Sounisians shared history and geography. Eddis’ mountains and forests had protected her for a long time, but how long could they keep the Medes out?

When Eddis looked up next, she saw that Eugendies’ seat was empty, the feet of the ivory decorated wooden chair flat on the ground as if they had always rested there.

 

 

At dinner later that week, Eugenides took his seat next to Agape. “Math has never been my strongest skill, but I believe this makes a full week that we have been seated next to each other,” he said.

“Perhaps not your strongest, but I feel certain it is one of your better ones,” Agape said, a smile peeking out. “I hardly think the queen would choose a thief unable to calculate the value of what the thief was stealing.”

“Do you think my strongest would be charming people?” Eugenides asked, his face turned fully to her, his eyebrow quirked up.

“Undoubtedly,” Agape said. “Although perhaps, some additional practice would not be amiss.”

Eugenides laughed loudly enough to draw the attention of several of their neighbors. “I thought that you agreed it was my strongest talent, and, as you are well aware, I do have many.”

Agape looked back at Eugenides, her expression playful. “Does not the renowned lyrist still practice upon their lyre every day?”

Sitting at the head of the table, Eddis covertly glanced at them throughout the meal. She had expected Eugenides to make his displeasure about her machinations unknown, but he had been surprisingly tractable recently. In fact, she could almost certainly trace it to the Mede threat moving from being a great theoretical concern to one more tangible. She simultaneously didn’t trust Eugenides and found herself hoping that perhaps he was finally ready to move forward. Down the table, the minister of war was thinking similar thoughts, although neither was entirely correct.

Eugenides thought little of Agape, save for their dinner assignations, although he would agree that she was both charming and beautiful. Instead, he traced in his mind’s eye the various battles taking place across Attolia, Sounis and the collected islands which dotted the Little Peninsula. Sounis may have been receiving Mede funds and weaponry, but once Attolia allied herself formally with the Mede emperor, the Medes would be able to erect staging grounds on Thicos, Cymorene and Rhea. With Attolia as their puppet, it would be a matter of years, if not months, before they took Sounis. Eddis could likely only hold out for a few years.

And what could Eugenides do? What could any of them do? Perhaps the magus had had the right of there could only be one way to save the Little Peninsula and that would be if it were united. But any hope of that stood out of reach, even for the Queen’s Thief. Or perhaps especially for the Queen’s Thief. A thief might steal a jewel or a friend, but a one-handed thief would find it exceptionally difficult to steal an entire peninsula.

Gen caught the covert look that Eddis threw his way and forced himself not to laugh. Eddis possessed all the subtlety of a bull—it was a good thing that her court and country loved her for her other attributes. Gen certainly did not love her for her matchmaking attempts.

 

 

That night, the minister of war found himself in Eugenides’ library, waiting for his son to return. The magus made conversation with the minister of war until the magus began to yawn and sheepishly excused himself to go to bed.

Eugenides appeared not long after and the minister of war put down Kaunos’s treatise on Pergagyia. “No one else can tell when I enter rooms,” Eugenides said and his voice would have sounded like he was a petulant child being denied a treat if it hadn’t sounded so fond.

“I see you had a significant amount of wine at dinner,” the minister of war said.

“Am I not allowed?” Eugenides said, the petulance slipping in favor of something more raw. “Am I less than a man because of my hand?”

The minister didn’t respond, instead coming forward to stand in front of Eugenides. The minister of war stood a few inches away from his son, watching him. “Of all my children, I find myself most concerned about you,” he said. Temenus had once broken their sovereign queen’s nose and had fought in more battles than Eugenides had counted. Elemene had once run away to hide in the Sepharchial forest for four months. But Eugenides was all recklessness and still contemplation and his father ached for his past and his future.

“I’m sorry,” Eugenides said softly, his eyes trained on a weight that must have fallen to the floor at some point during the day.

His father didn’t say anything and just pulled Eugenides close for a hug in response.

 

 

 

When Irene returned to her rooms, Phresine and Elia waited on her, the remaining attendants in the antechamber. When Elia placed the last pin in Irene’s hair, arranging it neatly, Aglaia entered. “The Mede ambassador requests an audience,” she said.

Irene nodded once and rose from her chair.

The Mede had taken the liberty of seating himself while he waited for Ir, but enehe stood when she entered the room. “Your majesty looks more and more beautiful each time that I see her,” he said. “I can hardly believe that we will be married.”

“Nahuseresh, you flatter me,” Irene said.

Nahuseresh leaned close to lay a kiss upon Irene’s cheek. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her attendants stiffen in offense. The smell of his beard oil filled the air, but she kept glacially still, a gentle smile on her face.

When Nahuseresh pulled back, he saw her downcast eyes and faint smile and thought to himself a few of the things he planned for their future. He would have married her had she been Hyrtacus’s own daughter, but he certainly would have enjoyed it less.

“How are the negotiations progressing?” Irene asked.

“Very well,” the Mede said. The negotiations had been progressing slowly, almost as if the queen was unaware of just how much danger she was in. Although Nahuseresh’s additional forces had been enough to ward Sounis out of the capital, such assistance had been conditioned on a formal alliance between the queen and Nahuseresh. It was a pity that one as beautiful as the queen had a thin understanding of war without fully comprehending it, but perhaps it was for the best as it would mean that Nahuseresh and the Medes would likely be able to formally establish themselves easily.

However, such recalcitrance on the part of Irene’s ministers would soon be removed when Nahuseresh’s messengers arrived in the capital.

When he returned to his room afterwards, Irene politely excusing herself to meet with her court, stubborn and fighting until the end—how little they realized!—Kamet greeted Nahuseresh with a fresh cup of chilled phyos, which Nahuseresh took.

“Have you any news?” Nahuseresh asked Kamet. Kamet nodded and pulled out three letters, seal neatly opened, and handed them to Nahuseresh.

“The messengers will bring news of the attacks on Rhea and the taking of Lysos,” Kamet said.

“Excellent. She will have no choice but to order her ministers to make concessions.”

“And if she does not?” Kamet asked, looking through the letters. “She may decide to continue to defend on her own.”

“She has already thrown her lot in with us,” Nahuseresh said. “There is no decision to be made but the inevitable one.”

 

 

 

When Eddis heard the news from one of her messengers, she took the news dispassionately and thanked the messenger, before he disappeared from the room.

When she had finished digesting the news, she turned to the men in the room—the minister of war, her captain of the guard and her spymaster. She would have to call a full meeting of her council soon to discuss their next steps. “She is to be married within the next two weeks,” the spymaster said.

Eddis sighed. “What steps have the Medes take so far?” she asked, already knowing what the answer was likely to be.

Her spymaster stepped forward and began listing out the beginnings of a base on one of Attolia’s islands. When he finished, by general consensus, the small group agreed to adjourn and meet with the rest of the council later that evening.

Eddis left her council room slowly. Xanthe had been waiting at the door and she paused when she saw Eddis, but did not say anything as she followed Eddis through the castle until they reached the library. Eddis pushed through the doors, revealing Gen lounging on the couch and the magus flipping through a book as they talked.

“Magus, Gen,” Eddis said, a small smile flickering as the magus quickly drew himself to attention.

“Your majesty,” the magus said in greeting.

“I have received some news that may be of interest to both of you.” Eugenides perked up, sitting up properly. Eddis took a moment to order her thoughts before speaking. “We’ve known for some time that Attolia planned to ally with the Medes but we’ve received word today of the nature of the alliance.”

The magus turned slightly, his face drawing together in recognition while Eugenides frowned, unsure of Eddis’s meaning. “She plans to marry the Mede ambassador.”

Eugenides’s face instantly drew shut. “Well, they deserve each other,” he said, but his voice was flat and he had carefully arranged himself on the lounge, letting one arm drop to deliberately convey his lack of interest. The magus wished to discuss it further, so Eugenides left the room and when the magus made to call him back, Eddis shook her head for him to drop it.

 

 

That night, Eugenides took his normal spot near the back of the council room. The minister of war didn’t look at Eugenides once while they discussed the Medes and Attolia. Sounis had been quiet for some time, but they could not discount him out. As Eddis listened to her ministers discuss their ever-dwindling options, Eddis mentally counted out the number of months before they would have to introduce rationing throughout the country. The castle had already started restricting their meals, although the head cook had managed to hide the reductions from only the most eagle-eyed of guests.

“We do not have much choice,” the minister of war said to the room. “We must post additional men at the Epyne and Antio. As we speak, the Medes have men beginning to build a staging ground on Cymorene and troops are still coming through Rhea and the capital. I would also recommend that we initiate discussions with Sounis. We must unite with them.”

Eddis gave a sharp nod to her council and asked them to vote. It was unanimous.

 

 

 

That night, Eugenides found himself wandering instead of sleeping. He made his way up to the top of the highest tower, forcing himself to scale it and when he made it to the top, breathing heavily, he lay down on the cool roof tiles.

The Medes were no longer just on the horizon. They had broken down their neighbor’s fence, slipped in like a wolf getting ready to eat all the sheep. First they would try to devour Sounis, but it wouldn’t be long before they were at Eddis’s door, barking to come in. All of Gen’s actions to steal Hamiathes’ gift would all come to nothing as she would still have to marry Sounis in order to try and fend of Attolia and the Medes.

And there was nothing that Gen could do to stop it. He thought of Attolia, her face pale and still like the marble of her palace, staring down at Gen from her dais. His stomach twisted painfully and Gen thought viciously that he hoped that the marriage brought her no joy and only suffering. He hoped that she regretted each day that she was married to the Mede ambassador. He hoped that the Mede ambassador smelled.

Gen spent a long while thinking of all the things that he hoped for the queen of Attolia and her new husband, until finally there was a dull sound in the distance, like a small thunderstorm, and Eugenides sighed, suddenly exhausted. “Goodnight to you, too,” he said into the evening air.

The next morning, Gen woke up all at once, clear-headed, and went to ask the queen for permission to ask Baron Phoros for Agape’s hand in marriage.

 

 

The procession began just outside the walls of the castle, Baron Phoros and his family waiting as Gen arrived with the chariot, the wicker and leather gleaming in the firelight. The solemnity of the occasion surprised Gen. Although he had been to many weddings before, somehow, he still felt surprised as he held out a hand to Agape. Agape, always beautiful, looked as if she had descended straight from the gods for the ceremony. She wore a pale blush chiton, gold braiding running down her sides, and a delicate gold necklace. Her earrings had been made to mirror the faintly embroidered stars on her chiton, gleaming in the light, and if they had been on anyone else, they would have made too tempting a target for Gen to take and leave at Eugenides’ altar.

As it was, Gen smiled at Agape, and although he couldn’t see Agape’s face behind her deep purple veil, her head inclined slightly, and the gold diadem atop Agape’s head shone brightly enough to throw a reflection of the packed crowd standing just beyond their circle at Gen.

Just beyond Agape, Gen saw Eddis standing there, her attendants flanking her, and even she had rose to the occasion of the day; a pale blue dress that made her look liked a stuffed peacock, but that one of her attendants had undoubtedly told her was in fashion.

“Are you ready, my betrothed,” Gen said formally to Agape as he held out his hand.

Agape’s voice rang through the crowds easily. “Yes.”

The chariot carried them through the small distance between the edge of the castle walls, the torch-lit courtyard and guests and to the queen’s temple dedicated to Venia.

The priest was solemn in his white robes as Agape and Gen knelt before him on the altar and when the priest pronounced them married before the gods, Gen turned to kiss Agape with a smile.

Despite the subtle rationing that Eddis had laid into effect some months prior, the kitchen outdid itself that night. There were sow’s udders stuffed with milk and eggs, mushrooms steeped in fish fat, fallow deer adorned with sweet raisins and honey, stuffed doves baked in a pastry. The dishes kept coming and coming, interspersed with loud toasts and cheers from Gen’s brothers, cousins and the livelier members of the court.

Gen sat in the raised chair on the dais next to Agape and Eddis, honored guests for the evening, and smiled at each toast, raising his glass and drinking heartily. Although he may not have chosen this for himself, he couldn’t regret how happy Eddis looked or the sense of good-ease and celebration for a court that had been lacking in it for some time.

When the evening (or early morning) finally came to a close, Eugenides made his way towards Agape’s new rooms in the palace. Eugenides felt a pang of sadness upon the loss of his library room, but he pushed it away and smiled for his new bride.

Agape, for her part, looked happy and vibrant, beautiful as always when Eugenides entered the room. She shone in her white shift, like a shining vision, and Eugenides closed the door before him and started forward.

 

 

The queen’s chamberlain found Eugenides as he was sneaking back into his chambers early one morning. To be more accurate, Gen found the chamberlain waiting outside Gen’s rooms, his face as stern and expressionless as always.

“Eugenides,” the chamberlain said, bowing slightly at Gen. Gen nodded back. “The Queen wishes to see you.

Gen raised an eyebrow, but allowed the chamberlain to lead him through the palace. They made their way past the throne room and the queen’s receiving rooms to the queen’s personal rooms and audience chamber.

Eddis stood with her back to the door, looking at something outside. Her hands were held tightly behind her as if she was steeling herself to do her duty. But as soon as she heard the door open, she turned around, already schooling her face into a smile. She nodded gently at her chamberlain and he melted away, closing the door behind him.

“Is it that serious?” Gen asked.

Eddis nodded. “I’m afraid so.” She looked bleak at the admission. “The council has agreed that our best option against the Medes is to destabilize Attolia. Most of her barons do not want Mede rule in any capacity. They are chafing at her marriage and at the intrusion of troops in their country.”

“If only they had realized that before they had schemed against her while Sounis was attacking,” Gen said.

“If only,” Eddis echoed, a slight smile coming back. “But if Attolia were to no longer be there, then her barons would likely unite against the Medes—which they cannot currently do—and if we are also fighting against the Medes, we stand a better chance of succeeding at driving them out.”

“Regicide is a serious step,” Gen said, pacing as he thought it out. The thought of killing Attolia made him feel vaguely ill, especially if Eddis was suggesting what Gen thought she was.

“I would prefer not to take that step,” Eddis said. “Although if that is what’s necessary, I would take it. Instead, I would like you to think about kidnapping her.”

Gen started laughing, before he caught himself and managed to hold it in. “Me? Kidnap the sovereign of Attolia?”

Eddis looked down at Gen, her face serious. “Yes.”

Gen abruptly stopped laughing and looked away. He turned towards the window Eddis had been watching earlier. It faced south and Gen could make out the Leonyla Pass in the distance and farther away, Attolia.

“If I don’t succeed, I’ll die,” Gen said.

“Yes,” Eddis said.

Gen didn’t say anything for a while, just watching out the window and thinking. Eddis didn’t push and eventually Gen brushed his hair back from his forehead. “I still dream about her at night—she’s giving the order and this time, instead of my hand, it’s my arm, or my leg, or my tongue.” Gen didn’t mention that he woke up those nights either screaming or with tears covering his face. If he went back to Attolia and failed, Attolia would take all of those and more before she let Gen die.

Gen sighed and began to move again, walking around the bright red and blue pattern on the edge of the room. “I’m not saying that I agree yet, but this isn’t just convincing someone who already respects me to leave for his own safety.”

“It is quite a challenge.”

“I know what you’re doing,” Gen warned.

“I’m not doing anything. I’m merely pointing out that this is just as impossible and difficult as you think it is.”

Gen smiled now, broadly. “You can’t just goad me into stealing a queen.”

“Oh, but I think I have,” Eddis said and she smiled as well.

 

 

 

Gen turned back into his seclusion with ease. Agape tried to coax Gen out to dinners or back to her father’s holdings for a visit, but Gen gently declined each time.

“I’m sorry, Agape,” Gen said, even perhaps meaning it, as Agape watched him in his antechamber. Eugendies sat at his desk, paper scattered around and each half-filled with neat, but slanted writing.

Gen looked up at his wife and felt a small undercurrent of guilt at her face. Agape was sweet and smart and if they had been married another time, Gen knew that they could have grown to love each other very much. Now, Gen’s fevered dreams of returning to Attolia had become their own prophecy and though he wanted to tell Agape that his days in Eddis were numbered, he couldn’t force the words out of his throat.

“But Gen, you have to see the court some time,” Agape said pragmatically. “Why not do it at a meal that you will eat anyways.”

“I already see the only members of the court that I like—besides, Iovis was very rude last time we sat near him. He made a very precise and cutting remark about my outfit and I’m not sure that I can bear the shame of it.”

Agape laughed and kissed her husband’s forehead. “I see. We couldn’t bear to let you live in the shame of Iovis’s cutting remarks.” Gen gave her a half smile, making Agape smile as she turned away. Once she departed, Gen turned back to his papers and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.

Long after the sunset and Agape’s visit to Gen’ chambers to briefly wish her husband goodnight before she returned to her own to prepare for bed, Gen scratched out plans and recalculated figures. Just as his candle began sputtering, Gen stood up and grabbed the set of papers and maps in front of him. He looked at them one more time, before rolling them up and sticking them roughly in a small sack, slinging it over his shoulder. He headed quickly to the window and gently opened it, the well-oiled glass not even betraying the smallest sound as Gen slipped through and climbed up onto the roof.

 

 

Gen spent three days Attolia’s palace just scouting the foreign terrain. He had expected it to be, if not changed completely, different. After all, Attolia had known his tricks last time—Gen would not do her the dishonor of thinking that Attolia had forgotten Gen’s ability to climb through her palace. It only made sense that she would take precautions against it occurring again, even though she could likely have safely assumed that Gen would have few reasons to enter her palace again willingly.

Gen started with the tunnels of the hypocausts—they were all still intact, although perhaps that was less surprising since to close them would have resulted in useless fireplaces and removing them required building a new palace. The servants locked up the storage rooms now, although that did not prevent Gen from entering them.

The queen’s guard had reduced their rooftop watch, although Gen found that there were a great deal of Mede faces interspersed throughout the units. The Mede soldiers seemed to be enjoying themselves, laughing, speaking in the harsh Mede language boisterously, oblivious to the cold reception from their Attolian counterparts. Gen saw that each Mede still wore their native armor, the Mede crested helmets marking them from even outside the palace gates. Gen had no illusion about which sovereign they pledged their allegiance to.

The weather was still cold enough to freeze dew overnight, so after Gen felt confident enough in the palace’s schedule and staff, Gen donned a pair of gloves and blended into the palace staff, running small errands here and there in his servant’s outfit, and although the cook in charge of the kitchen, Myklene, scowled at him whenever he saw Gen’s rumpled outfit, no one else took much notice of him.

Without consciously thinking about it, Gen found himself avoiding the queen during those first days. Gen could close his eyes and still see her face, pale as stone, giving the guard the order. Although he should have been shadowing her—determining her weaknesses and coming up with a plan to remove her from the palace, his body couldn’t shake its fear and Gen stayed away.

He tracked her movements and appointments throughout the day, always finding himself on the opposite side of the palace, where she would have no chance to see him. Instead, Gen chatted with the kitchen staff about the queen’s schedule (rarely variable), her new husband (the general consensus was vastly against him) and the queen herself (as distant as always), as well as subtly gleaned information about her various barons.

Gen also explored the queen’s new husband’s quarters. His slave, Kamet, kept Nahuseresh’s affairs in perfect order, assuming that the coded letters would be security enough. If only Gen hadn’t already deciphered it during his last visit, memorizing the cypher while Kamet narrated the letter to his master.

Finally, after almost a week of stalling, when it was well past the dead of the evening, with silently yawning guardsmen on the palace gate walls, Gen crept towards the queen’s room. The fires in the palace rooms had all grown banked and quiet, only a thin layer of smoke drifting through the hypocaust, so Gen chanced his way through them, crawling out on the roof above the queen’s room. He carefully lowered himself, looking through the window.

As always, Gen was struck by the queen—her beauty was evident, even in mussed sleep, and her dark brown hair hung loose, splayed out on the sheets. Gen thought of Agape, strangely, and winced, although he wasn’t sure what his guilt stood for. Even so, Gen did not move, taking in Attolia’s vulnerabilities and thinking of everything that he had promised himself in the darkness of his room after he’d returned to Eddis to die of eyerot. Attolia barely moved, still even in this, and Gen watched her long enough for his fingers and toes to start to lose feeling.

Just before Gen set to leave, Attolia moved violently, words on her lips that were too far away for Gen to make out. She reached out in the air and then, all at once, was awake, her face drawn tight and her breathing hard. Gen froze as well, his heartbeat so loud in his ears that he feared the queen would be able to hear it through the walls. He didn’t dare move, in case the queen’s sharp eyes picked it out in the dark, so he stayed there, caught, until Attolia, sat up and reached for her robe, her back turning to the window.

Gen made it back to the tunnel above the kitchen, warm even in the night, in a frantic dash, his heart hammering painfully. Only once he knew with certainty that there were no boots thundering in his direction or guards calling out his name, could he force himself to take a deep breath. His right arm ached from tension and the phantom pain where his right hand would have been was sharp.

Eventually, Gen calmed enough to lay down and he closed his eyes until the rumble of the kitchen starting up woke him up a few hours later.

 

 

“How did you sleep last night?” Nahuseresh said over breakfast later that morning. Attolia kept a pleasant expression on her face as she reached for another piece of olive bread from her plate. They both knew that it was a veiled barb—for all of Nahuseresh’s plans, Attolia had not warmed to marriage in precisely way that Nahuseresh had expected. Where he expected deference, she gave it and yet his desires seemed to always be unfulfilled. He was unable to even get the food that he wanted—Nahuseresh had requested that he be served a standard Mede breakfast and yet the kitchen had apologetically informed him that no coulere or erovestia could be made in the winter and that rye was unavailable due to the crop difficulties in the war. Nahuseresh had been frustrated, but unable to do much more than privately rage at the backwater capital he found himself in. Moreover, Nahuseresh had hoped to enjoy more of his nuptial privileges, but he had, embarrassingly, found himself indisposed in certain ways. But there was time, he reminded himself.

Aside from his difficulties with his wife, Nahuseresh also found that the question of where to quarter a battalion of troops on the coast trying to implement. Nahuseresh had been able to bring the troops to Attolia, but that had turned out to be the easy part. Baron Ephrata had claimed that he could not support a battalion of troops after the long season of housing the queen and her army. Baron Rhea had claimed that there was too much damage to the surrounding area from Sounis. In the end, Baron Iobates, a man that Nahuseresh had found tractable in the past, agreed to quarter the troops at Helenos, although that pushed the troops a day further by sea from Cymorene and over two additional days from the capital.

When Nahuseresh tried to take the barons in hand, they proved surprisingly slippery, their actions conditioned as “perhaps” or “we shall see” and yet, decisions were being made, bridges built and forces trained, cementing Nahuseresh’s conviction that the real intelligence behind the Attolian crown laid with one of the barons. Nahuseresh concluded that one of her barons was coercing the others in a rebellion and it only needed ferreting out, but Attolia would not hear of any of her barons being tortured or arrested without proof. However, Nahuseresh reminded himself that their marriage was still young, and he was making inroads—the merging of the armies and the discrete replacement of soldiers and officers loyal only to Attolia with ones who were loyal to Nahuseresh or could be bought.

As for Attolia, she knew her best weapon to be time. She watched Nahuseresh make his plans. He was smart, but like most men, he assumed that his intelligence and intriguing exceeded any woman’s, including his wife. And Attolia had been forced to allow herself into a position where Nahuseresh held all the cards, save time. All Attolia could do was plan, wait and smile at her husband each morning, while inside, she raged at her own futility.

 

 

Gen spent most of the morning investigating the Mede’s chambers. The Mede clearly only trusted Kamet, because no other Attolians were allowed into the chambers without either Nahuseresh or Kamet escorting them, which seemed to Gen a woefully flawed plan on their part as Gen was likely not the only one trying to discern their plans. Perhaps they had a large amount of faith in their own codes and security. Either way, Gen could hardly complain since it allowed him complete privacy in which to do his work. Most of what he found was expected—letters from the Emperor detailing resources committed and his expected results. Letters from Nahuseresh’s brother detailing his expectations. The two were largely unanimous except for their underlying assumption of loyalty.

Gen went through the rest of Nahuseresh’s materials—the expected set of seals and waxes, dark ink, pressed paper ready for writing, a small figurine of Ashil and several small purses with gold as well as Attolian and Mede currency. In one of the back bottom drawers of Nahuseresh’s desk, underneath a false cover, there was a locked box.

Really, Gen thought, some people had no imagination. The box held the usual valuables—several large gold bars, papers that appeared to forge the Emperor’s signature granting Nahuseresh powers significantly larger than he currently possessed and then three small identical vials.

“Oho,” Gen said quietly. “What have we here?” Carefully, Gen, pulled out the stopper, revealing a dusty red powder. Eugendies stopped short and then smelled the powder before stopping it back up and carefully placing it back in the box. Gen spent the rest of the morning perusing Nahuseresh’s room, only making his escape when he heard voices nearing from down the hallway.

“What good timing,” Gen thought to himself. His stomach was rumbling and he needed to go into town anyways.

 

 

Later that afternoon, the queen of Attolia met Teleus in her garden. Irene had encouraged the royal gardeners to grow dagon bushes throughout the garden. Its color contrasted nicely with the roses, but the dark green dagon’s thick leaves and tall branches also shielded its neighbors from any straying viewers. Irene took full advantage of the dagon bushes’s placement.

Only when she was certain that the bushes hid her completely did she tap lightly on the wall. After a moment, a portion of the gleaming white wall swung back and Teleus stepped through the door into the sun, where he proceeded to give a quick report.

Irene listened impassively, nodding when it was done. “Thank you, Telus,” she said. “Please inform Relius that I would like to see him this evening.” Teleus nodded once and then bowed at Irene and disappeared back through the wall.

When Irene finished her circuit in the garden, her attendants met her at the entrance back to her quarters. None of them showed any alarm or surprise at what might have occurred while their queen had been off without them. Gen watched this all from the upper edge of one of the terraced roofs adjoining the garden, pressed against the wall and hidden in the shadows. Only when he was sure that there were no observers left in the garden did he quickly jump off the ledge, catching the roofs below and slinging himself through the open window.

 

The next few days passed quickly—Gen visited the other inhabitants of the castle and listened in on a variety of meetings occurring between participants who clearly conducted their conversations under the full expectation of privacy. And then one morning, Gen woke up to the sounds of hounds barking loudly, badly startled. Even when it became clear that the dogs were preparing to go on a hunt with Nahuseresh and his men, Gen’s heart took a long time to calm down and he was grateful for the excuse to sneak into town, leaving the palace behind.

In town, Gen finalized the rest of his plan, making arrangements throughout towns, picking up various odds and ends, and when he set back towards the palace, he felt almost chipper about the thought of a good plan coming together.

 

 

That night, Gen waited until the queen was asleep and her attendants and guards on-wait were having a soft conversation, their low words loud enough to cover other small noises, before he crept into the room. His feet were soft on the woven rug and he steeled himself as he made his way towards the bed. Taking a deep breath, he gently placed his hook at Attolia’s throat, the pinpoint barely touching and then used his left hand to cover Attolia’s mouth.

As soon as his hand met her mouth, Attolia woke with a jerk, her throat shuddering to draw breath to scream, but she instantly stilled as she felt the sharp metal press down into the soft skin below it.

“I’m not here to kill you,” Gen said quietly. “Although if you scream, I will. And I promise you that I will escape, since it will be several minutes after your death for the troops to be marshalled to give chase. That will be all that I need and you will be dead.” Attolia stared up at Gen, her eyes glittering with rage. “If you understand, nod.”

Attolia nodded once, slowly, and Gen removed his hand, his right hand still pressing against Attolia’s neck and his left hand, steady and ready to reach out and grab Attolia if he needed to.

“Why are you here, if not to kill me?” Attolia said, her words barely a whisper and yet Gen could still detect the complete anger in them. No fear or panic though.

“I am here to give you a way to escape the palace,” Gen said.

“Are you going to burn down my navy and have someone tell my husband that I am in the employ of another country?” Attolia asked, her eyebrow arching.

“No,” Gen said. “I am going to tell you that Teleus will be dead within the next month, your loyal barons will be dead or stripped of power in six and that you will be dead shortly after.”

“Can you tell the future now?” Attolia asked. “Have the gods granted you some gift in addition to thieving?”

Gen sighed. “Only that of common sense. The Mede army has made no effort to integrate with your own. Nahuseresh has also bribed certain key guardsmen. He plans to have Teleus implicated in treason so that Teleus can be killed while in jail or tortured past sanity. He has another one loyal to the Medes’ money ready to take Teleus’s place. He has also started isolating your loyal barons and has no compunctions about creating treasonous crimes to pin on them. But all of those are fixable, at least, they could be fixed, if not for the last of Nahuseresh’s sins. Nahuseresh has been slowly poisoning you with scaire, which will kill you probably within the next year, by bribing certain of the kitchen staff. But if you do not compliantly allow him to poison you or he has the slightest inclination that you’re aware of this, he has directions to kill you outright as the Medes have enough of a foothold on Cymorene, the coast and in the capital to successfully invade the country.”

Attolia waited until Gen finished. “Is that all?” she said.

Gen felt slightly let down—he had expected some sort of shock or surprise. “Yes.”

“If that’s everything, I ask that you remove yourself from my room and this palace immediately. At this point, I would almost rather have you dead even at the risk of my own life.”

“You want me to leave?” Gen said.

Irene thought over everything that she knew. She hadn’t been kidding when she said that she was almost at the point of risking her own life for the security of having Gen finally and completely taken care of. Almost, but not quite.

“Yes,” Irene said, as if she were speaking to a young child. “I want you gone. I thought that I’d finally sent a message about how I view this situation when I’d seen you last, but clearly you need further education. I do not want any help from Eddis. She can keep her damaged thief and her country.”

Gen’s jaw clenched, so the arrow had certainly found home, but he didn’t rise to the bait. He didn’t say, _I have my orders and your husband may not be the only one soon seeking your death_. Although this had been Gen’s likeliest plan of success, it had by no means been the only one. So, Gen stepped back and dropped into a deep bow. Before Attolia could react, or scream for her guard, Gen disappeared out her window, out into the darkness. As of its own accord, Attolia’s window slowly drifted shut, until it was almost closed, as if Gen had never been there.

 

For a long time, Irene sat in her bed, watching her window, as if Eugenides was stupid enough to come back in. He was probably halfway back to Eddis—and a good riddance to him too, she reminded herself. Good riddance.

When Phresine and Elia came to wake Attolia in the morning, she frowned at the queen already up and at her desk. “I would like to see Teleus immediately,” she said.

Phresine nodded and Elia immediately left to go bring Teleus while Phresine and the other attendants prepared the queen for her day.

 

 

Although Irene had been under no illusions with respect to her husband’s goals, the knowledge that he was poisoning her had come as a shock and she questioned every weakness or sense of exhaustion that she had felt since her marriage, not trusting her body. She saw her life through different eyes during the day. Nahuseresh’s attentiveness during breakfast as she ate a meal of cold eel, with bread, goat cheese and honey. Many hands had touched her meal in preparing it.

As she and her husband were escorted by their guards throughout the day, she wondered at each of the men surrounding her. It would only take one gun or sword to end either one of their lives. If Irene attacked first, then the Mede Emperor could attack. Quite easily, as Eugenides had pointed out the night before.

During the meeting with Baron Cleonides, his anger barely held in check about the damage to his crops done in the last volley with Sounis and Eddis, Irene saw Nahuseresh’s eyes flicking lazily towards the baron and saw the extensive rebellion and fracturing that he had begun to ferment.

And throughout it all, Irene kept thinking back to Eugenides. Why hadn’t she told anyone? Part of her felt that it would be useless—unlike last time, she had no divine assistance guiding her hand. If she had failed to catch him, she would have been the laughingstock of her court. But even so, as soon as Eugenides had left her room, she had known that she would not say anything about it.

Perhaps it had been something in his demeanor. Irene had always thought of Eugenides as the boy-thief, swimming in waters deeper than he could imagine. But, there had been a look in his eyes last night. As his hook had pressed against her throat—the weapon that she had, in effect, put there—something had changed. If she had screamed, he would have killed her. The thief might have been sorry afterwards, as she doubted that he enjoyed killing, but he would have done it.

He was not entirely a boy anymore.

She watched Nahuseresh throughout the day. He thought himself subtle, but she could see that he was coiled, ready to strike, as if his manners and finery hid him like the brush hides a snake. In the evening, after the court met and Nahuseresh smiled at Irene, smug as always, Nahuseresh and Irene went their separate ways to their chambers. Nahuseresh, it seemed, was not yet over his indignities.

Only after her attendants wished her a peaceful sleep, closing the door behind them, did Irene walk over to her window. Her head felt faintly muzzy, almost aching by how much thinking and replanning she had done over the day.

Irene did not even steel herself, instead she opened up the window, and said softly, “Thief, you may come in.”

Then she stepped back into her room, sat at her desk and waited.

The seconds creeped by but Irene refused to let herself linger on any regret if she was wrong and the Eddis thief had stolen himself back to his queen. Instead, she planned out her new plan of attack—who would be the acceptable losses, where would she find the money that she needed, would her previous plans and backups hold up in the light of day?

Finally, when Irene felt her heart beating in her chest so loudly, she was surprised that her attendants hadn’t rushed in out of fear, the window softly swung open and the thief dropped through. They watched each other for a long minute, Irene’s body going cold and then hot in relief, although she refused to let it show.

Some part of her wanted to ask why he hadn’t left—why risk his life or, worse, painful torture, to stay at the Attolian palace. But to ask was to imply curiosity and weakness and Irene needed as much of the upper hand as she could get.

For his part, the thief didn’t ask how Irene could have known that he would still be there. Maybe he believed that it was intuition or divine intervention. Both would have been wrong.

“You’re willing to leave now?” The thief said, the implication that Irene was crazy for staying even a day longer as her husband poisoned her body and her court around her.

“Absolutely not,” Irene said. “As soon as I leave, I’ve lost my country. My barons will never be able to mount an effective campaign against the Medes. They will have Attolia, Sounis and then likely Eddis, in quick order. And that’s why you’re really here.”

Eugenides did a half-shrug. “Perhaps they will be able to drive the Medes out, as long as they have a common enemy.”

“My husband has made too many in-roads in sowing discord for me to rely on that.”

“Then why bother calling for me?” he said instead. “I am able to sneak you out of the castle. I am not able to suddenly steal your problems away from your palace.”

Irene’s face went hot with anger—how stupid he could be! Was he doing it on purpose? “I am not asking you to solve my problems. I am proposing that we work together towards a mutually agreeable goal. I am limited in what I can do quickly in the palace—Nahuseresh and the Medes have spies within the guards, barons sympathetic to his cause and bribed servants. I know who they are and who is loyal to me, but if I act against them, then I tip off Nahuseresh to my knowledge.”

“So I will be your messenger,” Eugenides said, his voice dry.

“Is that all you are capable of? I seem to recall rumors of the demolition of Sounis’s navy and the theft of his magus. That must have been some other thief.”

Eugenides drew himself tightly together. “What makes you think that I would help you?”

“Does Eddis now want the Medes here?”

“You were the one who invited them in—shouldn’t they be your problem?” the thief said. Irene pushed down the frustration simmering on the surface.

“Let us be clear, goatfoot, I would do it again. I would do it one hundred times over because it saved my country from falling to Sounis’s hands. I can control the Medes. My plan may be on a longer time frame than your or your queen would like it. But I am capable of taking care of myself.” She turned away stiffly and looked down at her hands, clenched tightly on the desk. She forced them to her sides.

“So why work with us at all, your Majesty,” Eugenides said, scorn bleeding through his words.

Irene turned around and faced him. “Because right now, you offer me a better option. But I am beginning to feel as if perhaps the Medes would be the better alternative to working with you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Eugenides said. They both stared at each for a long time, waiting to see who would be the first to break.

“If you help me eliminate the Mede staging ground on Cymorene, I will declare all hostilities against Eddis over,” Irene said.

“How do I know that you will keep your word?” Eugenides asked.

“How do you know that I will not yell for the guard at any second? How do you know that this is not a trap?” Irene said.

Eugenides glared at Irene and Irene found herself unable to refrain from glaring back. Finally, Eugenides broke the staring match by sitting back on her bed and then flopping back, his body going completely fluid against her sheets.

“Fine, oh brilliant one,” Gen said. “Please tell me in whatever capacity can I assist.” Although he kept his tone carefully casual, Gen thought of the room down below his feet, quiet in the darkness tonight, and hoped against hope that he did not end up there again. He did not think that he fooled Attolia.

Irene pulled out a scroll and unrolled it to reveal a map of the Little Peninsula, motioning Gen over to look at it.

 

 

They spent most of the night discussing Attolia’s plans. Or rather, Irene discussed her plans and Eugenides made derisive sounds and expressed his deep skepticism.

“But if you know that Nahuseresh will have any messenger killed, why not have someone go in the guise of a trading caravan for most of the way?” Eugenides asked as Irene tried to explain her plan for Cymorene.

“And what about the pirates?” she countered.

Eugenides looked smug. “Let me deal with the pirates,” he said.

Very little actually seemed to be spent in productive planning—instead, Irene found herself wanting to argue with almost everything that came out of Eugenides’s mouth. His arrogance was never-ending. “How much do you really trust Teleus,” Eugenides said, and Irene burned cold and bright in anger. “Oh, I know he’s loyal,” Eugenides flapped a hand dismissively. “I just meant, how capable is he?”

He did not appear convinced by Irene’s statement to drop the line of inquiry.

When the darkness began to make its initial slow sweep towards dawn, the stars beginning to fade away, Eugenides took the small handful of papers that Irene had prepared and bowed towards her.

“Until next night, your Majesty,” he said, the mockery evident, and then he was gone again.

The next day, Irene felt as if she was wearing a dress ever-so-slightly too tight for her. She saw Eugenides occasionally throughout the day—a kitchen outfit on and looking harried, much like a real servant would. Irene wondered at how Eugenides could pass for an Attolian servant—he seemed so different and sturdier, more assured, than everyone else—it felt as obvious as a painted idol. But no one else seemed to take note of him at all, marking the thief off as just another face in the crowd.

 

 

As Gen went about his day, he found it easier than he would have expected to be Attolia’s intermediary. Teleus took the letter from Gen without even looking at him twice—even though Teleus must have seen Gen’s face during Gen’s last ill-fated trip to the Attolian palace. Teleus had a message to pass back to Attolia, as did the two barons. He also spent some time in Nahuseresh’s chambers—feeling so thoroughly acquainted by the time that he left, it could have been his second home.

It wasn’t that Gen didn’t have faith in Attolia’s plan, but he preferred to act more decisively, more openly. After all, he was a thief, and he did like loud bang—he also liked to have back-up plans in place and then back-ups to those plans, so after he finished his errands for the day, he took himself into town.

When he returned in the early evening, he went to one of his favorite hiding spots in the palace, a lowered ceiling with plenty of space between it and the roof over a little-used room currently housing a series of broken looms as well as bejeweled decorations awaiting the next palace celebration. The wind blew loudly outside and edges of it leaked underneath the roof, but Gen just pulled his cloak closer around himself and then instantly fell asleep.

Gen woke as the palace disbursed from dinner and the halls were loud with people making their way back to their chambers. No one would have noticed a small herd of elephants above them, but Gen took care to move quietly, just in case, as he made the long trek to Nahuseresh’s chambers.

Nahuseresh and Kamet came and went throughout the rooms, leaving Nahusresh’s guards in his outer audience chamber. It seemed that Nahuseresh only trusted Kamet fully—the implication being that Kamet could never or would never be able to betray him.

Oddly enough, Nahuseresh made no movement to go to the queen’s chambers. Gen wondered at that, but put that away for another time and instead, focused on steeling himself for Attolia, the cold appropriately biting through his coat as he crept towards her chambers.

“It’s cold,” Gen said, once he came through Attolia’s window. She barely glanced at him.

“Aren’t you Eddisians built for cold weather?” Attolia asked.

“Exactly, we build for cold weather. We stay in our buildings and avoid it.”

“Something tells me that you do not stay indoors,” Attolia turned and cast a critical eye at him. When she looked at him, Gen felt like she could see through straight to his core and he felt the old stirrings of something he might have once felt. It was hard not to—Attolia had always been beautiful and Gen’s first glimpse of Attolia still rang painfully bright throughout his body, even after all that she had done to him. Gen looked away.

Gen shrugged. “I have several items for you,” he said and passed her the letters from Teleus, Baron Philo and Baron Euphron. Attolia took them and read through them quickly. Her face changed subtly as she read through them, slight relief in the arch of her eyebrows and slope of her neck.

“Cymorene?” Gen said when she was done.

Attolia nodded. “Let’s get back to Cymorene.” Much like the previous evening, they spent most of the evening in quiet argument, although when Gen said that he could get the Medes out of Cymorene in a month, Attolia’s face went white and then red with anger and she only refrained from throwing an ink pot at Gen at the reminder that the sound would most assuredly bring her attendants.

He could tell that she chafed at having to work with him and normally he would brush it off, but he couldn’t deny that a part of himself enjoyed this small revenge, petty though it may have been. He let himself keep poking at her, needling her when he knew it would bother her. He almost wanted her to throw that inkpot at him—or at least try to. Just when Attolia looked like she would reach out and strangle Gen, hook or no hook, Gen gave her his most scornful smile and slipped towards the window.

“Until tomorrow,” he said.

 

 

It continued much in the same way for the next few days, and Gen began to see a path forwards, even if it wasn’t the same path that Attolia necessarily saw. Little by little, they set their plans in motion. Substituting out the small vial of scaire, with its slightly tart twin, pindar. Irene didn’t have to feign continued exhaustion however and Nahuseresh looked appropriately concerned that his queen required a rest in the afternoon each day.

The rest of the court buzzed with gossip of why Attolia looked so pale and Gen had to refrain from laughing at their wild guessing. Pregnancy, a wasting illness and Gen’s personal favorite: heartsickness. Even Attolia was likely to appreciate the humor in that, although Gen was willing to bet a bronze cup that she’d never laugh in front of any member of her court.

It stuck at him all day and when he joined Attolia in her room, the familiar maps spread out in front of them, Gen couldn’t resist asking the question.

“Have you ever laughed in front of someone else?” he asked.

Attolia frowned, her forehead wrinkling in surprise, and Gen felt oddly proud of himself for it. “What did you just ask?”

“Laughing—when someone makes a particularly witty joke, or if you’re my cousins, the opposite of a witty joke—or when someone does something silly.”

Attolia focused the entirety of her disdain upon Gen but, for once, he couldn’t feel the heat behind it. “I would think that the extremely limited time that we have to plan and execute our goals would motivate you to be more productive with it,” she said, displeasure and annoyance poured into every sound that she made.

“So, you’re embarrassed by the answer,” Gen said, thinking it out. “I think that you have.”

There was a small sound that would have meant nothing from anything else, but from Attolia, clearly indicated her growing impatience, so Gen let it drop. Sometimes he wondered if there really was anything behind her marble exterior—maybe his memory of her shedding her courtly mask for a dance in the garden from years ago had been the exception rather than the rule. Maybe she was as unfeeling and cold as everyone thought.

Only when Gen found himself yawning repeatedly, and heading for the window with four letters stamped with Attolia’s seal to get some sleep where he could, did he finally get his answer.

“With my brother,” Attolia said, suddenly, loudly enough that they both paused in fear of discovery for a long fraught second. Only after no footsteps sounded did Attolia continue, her voice hushed and banked, as if she feared her words getting loose. “He used to make me laugh—the only one who could,” she said and when Gen looked at Attolia, he could see the young girl that she may once have been. Small and quiet, idolizing the one person who loved her as a person, as a sister, rather than as a country.

And then Attolia came to herself, her face returning to its purposeful calm, and Gen pulled himself out of the window and left.

 

 

One night, Eugenides announced that he would be gone for a few days. He’d received a letter in town that afternoon and should have left immediately, but had no way of letting Irene know until night, when she was alone. “Where?” Irene asked, her glance narrowing.

“Eddis isn’t just going to throw her troops around,” Eugenides said. “And even if she could, she doesn’t trust you. With good reason. So I need to go and convince her.”

Irene just glared harder and Eugenides frowned. “Would you really have the Medes controlling your country?”

“I would rather solve my problems myself than go running to a goatfoot,” she said.

Eugenides drew up tight with anger. “You can talk that way about me all you want. You may not talk about my queen like that.” And before Irene could respond, Eugenides nodded stiffy at her and then departed in his usual manner.

Irene refused to call out for the thief. If he took offense, it was only at the truth of her words. After all, she wanted the Medes gone, but the necessity of the Eddisians rankled at her. She wondered if Eugenides had left immediately for Eddis and some part of her, wanted to call out for the guards, and drag him back. There were a limited number of ways to get to Eddis and the thief could likely be caught.

Even though Eugenides had not really been an ally, at some point, it seemed, he had felt like one, and as Irene prepared herself for bed, she felt all alone again.

 

 

 

 

When Gen arrived at the palace, it was late afternoon, and Genwas exhausted, so he snuck into the queen’s chambers to wait for her there and catch a small nap in one of her large and comfortable chairs. Attolia’s chairs were all designed for their appearance—stiff and unyielding. He wasn’t sure how she could sit in chairs like that all day.

Eddis didn’t even look surprised when she came into her bedroom and saw Gen there sprawled on the armchair. She flicked a look behind her and then motioned her attendants to not come in. “I think that I need some time to myself,” she said cheerfully and then closed the door.

“How bad is it?” Eugenides asked once he knew that they couldn’t be overheard.

“It is not good, if that’s what you’re asking,” Eddis said. “I’ve been receiving your messages.”

“And?”

“And I think it’s a trap,” Eddis said. “Your father does too.” Unsaid was the fact that if both Eddis and the minister of war believed it to be a trap, then the council would never vote for what Eddis needed to do.

Gen frowned. “It could be a trap—she has no lost love for us. And I don’t have any for her as well. But I think that both of us hate the Medes more than we hate each other.”

“I need a lot more to go on that hating the Medes,” Eddis said.

“Cymorene has a natural harbor on its southern side, if we land a small force on it and barricade the Medes in their harbor, they will be trapped.”

“We don’t have a navy,” Eddis said. “I thought I sent you to make her disappear. Instead you’re asking me to commit additional resources.”

“And yet,” Gen said.

Eddis rolled her eyes. “You are too clever for your own good,” she said.

“Attolia has arranged for her army to attack the Medes at Iobates. If we are able to take Cymorene, the Medes will be unable to get forces there in time before we expel them. And we will be able to expel the Medes with perfect justification,” Eugenides said, standing up from the chair and coming to sit next to Eddis on the bed.

“Oh, we will?” Eddis tried to sound disapproving, but she couldn’t help the fond smile that made her way onto her face.

“Yes, we will. We have proof that Nahuseresh has been poisoning Attolia.”

Eddis raised both eyebrows at this, actually shocked. “Poisoned? Why has Attolia not had him arrested?”

“It needs to be coordinated at once. If she has him arrested now, the Mede army will jump at the provocation. While she may be able to incapacitate their forces in the palace, currently, there are thousands of men that the Mede Emperor can quickly send from Cymorene and Iobates.”

Eddis sighed and then thought for a while. Gen did not bother her, letting her work out various plans and contingencies to their logical and probable ends. She rubbed her eyes and then looked at Gen. “I will take it before the council.”

Before Eddis left to gather her council, she turned to Gen. “Would you like to see Agape before we meet?” she asked.

Gen felt a loud stab of guilt—he had barely thought of Agape while he was gone. She had known that he was going away for some time, but now he wondered at how it would have been like for her, with her new husband gone.

“I…no,” he said. “I think that I had better rest while I can—I expect that I won’t have much time after the council meets.”

If Eddis saw it as the cowardly choice that it was, she didn’t say anything, and left Gen to his nap.

 

The minister of war was happy to see his son, but couldn’t help but the concern covering his face. “It will be fine,” Gen said, trying to reassure him. 

“And if she decides that you’re no longer useful?” the minister of war asked.

Gen sighed. “It is less a question of ‘if’, then ‘when.’ Although I have tried to take some precautions. Working with Attolia is the best option that we have to push the Medes out. Neither of us can do it alone. And if it leads to an alliance between the two countries that makes it more likely that we can keep them out, it is even better.”

The minister of war frowned but didn’t disagree.

After a long negotiation of the council on the number of troops to be given to this mission and the coordination of the few naval resources that Eddis did have, the council voted. The vote came along the expected lines—the minister of war voted against it, but a majority voted for it. Eddis nodded at her men. “We will attack Cymorene then. The general and minister of war will prepare a timeline,” she directed to Gen.

Gen left late that night with a timeline firmly impressed into his head and a deep hug from his father. The minister of war rarely expressed his concern to his youngest child, but Gen knew it for the plea that it was. He couldn’t do anything else, but give a hug back—no promises or assurances in his future.

 

 

On the second day, Irene realized that she missed Eugenides, which was laughable in and of itself. After all, it wasn’t even as if he had been present for other than a few hours each night. But, she had known that he was around in the palace during the day, and present or not, she had become accustomed to that. Well, she needed to unaccustom herself from that. It wasn’t like Eugenides would be around for much longer—and that assumed that she wouldn’t have him arrested.

Eugenides was a good ally now, but if they did succeed, she risked a valuable asset going back to Eddis. Eugenides had proven many times that he knew her palace’s secrets just as well as she. As for what would happen if they didn’t succeed—well, death was likely to be the least of both of their concerns.

When she got to her room that night, she was too anxious to tolerate her attendants for any length of time, so after they helped her out of her dress, she dismissed them. She wasn’t sure if Eugenides could be expected to be back so quickly—Eddis could be reached in less than a day, but presumably planning needed to be done, people convinced. If Eugenides even could convince people—he possessed a healthy reputation in Eddis, but would that be enough?

Irene reviewed her own plans—Eddis’s assistance helped her plans, but they were by no means necessary to getting complete control over her country back.

Just when Irene began to drop off, the bed warm and inviting, the window made a small sound and Irene shot up in time to see Eugenides creep in through the window. Once he landed on firm ground, he stood up straight and Irene couldn’t mistake the exhaustion covering his face.

“Here,” Eugenides said and passed her a letter. Irene took the letter and sat down at her desk, Eugenides mirroring the same on Irene’s bed before he swayed back.

Irene couldn’t mistake the author of the letter, even if it was unsigned. Eddis’s personality jumped out—firm and brave—and not for the first time, Irene felt jealous of all of the freedoms that Eddis possessed.

By the time that she raised her head to check on the abnormally quiet thief, Eugenides had fallen asleep. He looked so calm and restful, Irene couldn’t bring herself to wake him up. She dozed for a little while in her chair until the dark of night began to shift of the grey of dawn.

“Thief,” Irene said quietly, placing her hand at his elbow to gently shake him.

Eugenides came awake all at once and when he opened his eyes, he went white with fear. He instinctively swung out with his right hand, the hook coming dangerously close to Irene’s face as she jumped back and it was only then that she realized what memory Eugenides’s sleep-deprived mind would first call up.

He swung out again and this time, the tip of his hook grazed Irene’s arm and she felt a bloom of pain spring up in its path. “Stop that,” she said harshly, and Eugenides came back to himself quickly, although his face still remained pale and drawn.

“I—” Eugenides started, but he stopped, unsure of where to go.

“I know what you were going to say,” Irene said. “Don’t. It’s dawn and you need to leave. I’ve read Eddis’ letter and burned it. We will attack in a week.”

 

 

For all of Irene’s planning, she couldn’t discount her husband completely. The next evening during dinner, a messenger ran into the room, going directly to Nahuseresh. Nahuseresh’s guards jumped up, barring the messenger from his intended recipient until Nahuseresh waved the messenger through. Nahuseresh looked slightly less surprised, although he had adopted an expression of pure shock. Irene let her face mirror his.

After the messenger whispered something into the ear of Nahuseresh, the Mede gasped and the rest of the court looked on with baited breath. “My dearest,” he said, turning to Irene. “This messenger has just come bearing news that several witnesses saw the captain of your guard meeting with an Eddisian. The witnesses are being brought in for you to question them because Teleus is clearly conspiring against you.” The irony was that it may have even been true, although if so, only because Nahuseresh had been looking for it.

Irene felt angry—good, very angry—and she turned and let the full force of her anger sear the court. Even Nahuseresh looked stunned, although he was likely to dismiss his intuition later. “Bring my captain before me,” she directed to two of her guard in the room.

She also glanced at a smaller man in the back and maintained eye contact long enough for the man to nod back at her and then disappear, no one else noticing.

Nahuseresh looked as smug as a cat with its cream next to her as they waited for Teleus to arrive. He tried to sooth her with platitudes—he imagined that she was upset by the betrayal of her captain rather than the loss of a key figure of her plan just when she so desperately needed it. She needed to play a card from her hand to protect Teleus and hope that it was enough.

Just as Teleus was being brought in, stoic to the last, another messenger arrived and handed Irene a letter and a small pouch. A few people took note of the messenger, but he was gone before he could attrackt too much attention.

If Irene had been angry before, it was nothing to what she was now. When she looked up from the piece of paper, the letters printed carefully on it, she looked into the pouch and then at Baron Myrto, a large man who had been a thorn in her side since she had first taken the crown.

“Take Teleus away—put him in a cell and have him guarded by four soldiers from different units. He will not get away,” she said. “But it seems that today is revealing in many ways. Another messenger just brought this,” she gestured at the pouch and all of her court turned to it, curious. “Baron Myrto, I have something here that is very interesting.”

Baron Myrto was a man who had been born into power and carried it around him with the arrogance of one who knows that he will never lose it. He had accepted bribes from the Sounisians and the Medes, with no loyalty to Irene or her father, and Eugenides had procured her evidence of it.

“My Queen,” Baron Myrto said, confidence slithering over his face. “I am sure that there is nothing interesting about me.”

“My tax inspector would say otherwise. As you will see, he has found something very interesting while visiting your house.”

Irene withdrew one of the pieces of gold in the bag. It was a half-bar and stamped onto the top was the Sounisian seal. Baron Myrto went white and started forward but the queen’s guards were there to stop him. Satisfyingly, Nahuseresh had also gone still next to her, probably wondering what else had been in that bag. But Irene knew that the game would end if she were to reveal too much. Nahuseresh needed to be uncertain. Wary.

“I—my Queen—I would never do anything that would—”

“Stop,” Irene commanded, angry enough that even Baron Myrto took a step back. “You have been found with Sounis’s gold in your house. And not in an insignificant amount.” Baron Myrto might protest where it had been found or the circumstances as he was not without his allies, but by the time he made a convincing argument, his use as a distraction would no longer be needed.

Nahuseresh hadn’t moved from next to Irene and she could see his eyes cutting over to Baron Myrto, wondering if Myrto would spill his secrets with the Medes to Irene. Irene kept the bag closed and then stood up. “Arrest this man,” she directed to her guard. “We will convene a meeting of the barons shortly to discuss Myrto’s fate.” And then she left court, loud whispers echoing in her wake.

 

 

“Where did you get the gold?” Attolia asked that night.

Gen shrugged. “I just had it,” he said. At her stare, he shrugged. “You never know when foreign-stamped currency will come in handy.”

Attolia snorted, perhaps at the ridiculousness of Gen, but it stopped Gen flat. “Was that a laugh?” he asked, in disbelief.

“That was a sound of derision,” Attolia informed him.

They did not have much to do that evening—most of their plans had already been set in motion, people sent on missions, evidence placed and resources ready. It was the part of a theft that Gen liked least: the waiting, but it was also the part of a theft that he was best at. Gen could outwait almost anyone and that was how he succeeded while many others failed.

Besides, he found himself almost enjoying his evenings with Attolia. He had come to understand her, at least a little. She was cruel, but only when necessity required it. Her court was not like Eddis’s, willing to follow their queen, offering guidance because they believed they could offer something to the country. Here, her barons jostled for power, and any sign of weakness could be cause for attack. He didn’t forgive her for what she had done, but perhaps, he understood part of it.

 

Teleus’s replacement was not the captain that Teleus was—Irene had deferred to Nahuseresh’s wishes and appointed Gallus, a lieutenant that Nahuseresh was bribing, as Teleus’s successor while Teleus enjoyed all the luxury that could be had in the queen’s jail.

There had been no way to avoid Nahuseresh’s eventual power play that either Irene or Eugenides had seen, so Irene had prepared Teleus after her initial meeting with Eugenides. Teleus had quickly suggested three lieutenants to Irene to act as his eventual intermediaries. Eugenides had confirmed their loyalty to the best of his ability, although there were always risks. At some point, Irene had to make a choice and it had been the best of the few ones available.

Through these intermediaries, Irene’s orders now went out to Lycomedes, Gallus circumvented completely. It was not a question of someone reporting back to Nahuseresh. It was a certainty. The only question was when. Could Lycomedes plug the leaks in his army long enough for him to capture Iobates?

 

 

And so, the remaining days passed, Irene tight with worry, with no messages of failure, but none of success. Her only temporary relief was the slight easing in her chest when she saw Eugenides throughout the day.

 

 

The news came all at once—first, that Teleus had disappeared from his jail cell. Irene could see Nahuseresh rage at that. It seemed that Eugenides had not been content to wait—or perhaps he had received information that she did not have. Irene frowned at that, disliked knowing less that Eugenides and let her anger and concern boil to the surface, although it was likely that Nahuseresh saw through it.

“Are you telling me that a man who has committed treason against our country has disappeared from his cell?” Irene asked the four large men, all faintly quaking, in front of her.

“Yes, your majesty,” the most senior of them said. “One minute he was there and then the next, he was gone.”

“Put them in a cell,” Irene said to her guard. “I will deal with them later.”

Then, she saw Eugenides slip in near the back of the room, hair tied back and a white messenger’s outfit on. She spared a moment to wonder at how Eugenides seemed to come by each of his many false-outfits. Maybe he kept them with the gold.

She looked to her left, to one of Teleus’s young lieutenants, Bacchios, and nodded once at him. Eugenides came forward, slowly, skirting around the edges of the room, although he could have walked through the middle and only the most observant would have been distracted from their conversations about Teleus’s escape.

He gave her a sardonic smile that told her everything she needed to know about Teleus’s disappearance and she raised her eyebrow in question.

When Eugenides came close to the throne, he knelt down as if he was a proper messenger, delivering his message next to her ear.

“General Lycomedes reports that the port of Iobates is secure and that the Medes have been subdued. He awaits further orders. There were some difficulties on Cymorene—some of the fleet escaped, but the Mede facilities on Cymorene have been destroyed and the remainder of the men have been captured,” Eugenides said, his voice low, and she wished that he would look up at her face.

“Very well,” Irene said just as quietly and Eugenides stood up and bowed deeply before moving back.

“What is it, my queen?” Nahuseresh asked and she saw that he believed that Teleus’s arrest was working out better than he could have imagined. Teleus now had a cloud cast over him and four loyal soldiers would also be thrown in jail for the loss of their former commander. It was fitting that it came to an end now.

Irene nodded at Bacchios and suddenly three-quarters of the queen’s guards in the room had out their guns and swords, directed at the nearest member of Nahuseresh’s guard. Most of them were caught unprepared, but there were a few fights going on in the fringes of the room, the clash of swords loud in the suddenly quiet space.

“You,” Irene said, turning on Nahuseresh. He looked angry, red mottling spreading across his face.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed.

“You are under arrest,” Irene said.

“For what?” Nahuseresh said. Irene saw Eugenides creeping around for a more central position out of the corner of her eye.

“Treason,” Irene said. “For conspiring against my country, for bribing my people to act for the Medes and, most of all, for poisoning me.” Irene pulled out the small bag of scaire from her pocket and half of her court gasped at the sight of the pale pink scaire.

Nahuseresh pulled out a gun—where he had managed to keep it, Irene wasn’t sure—and pointed it directly at Irene. Someone in the back of the court screamed, but Irene just frowned. She should have anticipated this and yet, she had assumed that he would prefer to have someone else do his dirty work. Clearly she had been wrong He would have one shot and then her guards would shoot him, however one shot was all that was needed in order to end her reign.

“I won’t be sorry to have you dead after all,” he said and then started to squeeze the trigger, but before he could shoot, Eugenides appeared out of nowhere tackling Nahuseresh to the ground as the shot went off wildly. They scuffled on the ground until several of the queen’s guard jumped into the fray, restraining Nahuseresh. But when Nahuseresh was lifted off of the ground, Eugenides lay beneath him, his white uniform quickly spreading with dark red.

“Get a doctor,” Irene yelled into the crowd and someone left immediately. One of the guards had his hands wrapped around Eugenides. Irene was almost afraid to look, but she forced herself look, to hurry over and it was easy to kneel at Eugenides’s side.

He had a grimace on his face, but he looked up at her approach and she knew, with clarity, why she had wanted him to look at her earlier. Irene wanted to ask him why, but there were too many people and too many secrets between them so she reached out instead and touched Eugenides’s hand.

Petrus appeared with a skid into the room with a gaggle of assistants who instantly began clearing the room as Petrus and one of his assistants knelt next to Irene. Petrus nodded at the guard, who removed his hands so that Petrus could examine the wound.

Irene caught the glimpse of a ragged edge and then, the world went woozily dark.

 

 

When she came to, she lay in her bed, three of her attendants clustered nervously around the edge of the bed, a cool breeze entering from the open window. Only Phresine, sitting in the chair near the door looked calm.

“How is he?” Irene asked. None of them required explanation. A variety of answers came her way—Petrus had stitched up Eugenides, he was recovering, the bullet had grazed his side—until Irene cut them all of with a wave of her hand and pushed herself up.

“I will see him,” she said. Her attendants looked like they might think of arguing, so Irene silenced them with a glare. “And Petrus. Now.”

 

Petrus provided a full report after Irene checked in on Eugenides. He slept—Petrus had provided him with a dose of lithium to get him to sleep—but even in sleep, he looked to be in pain, and Irene felt a strong pull of guilt. He would likely survive, as long as the wound did not get infected. He should not be moved for a few days, Petrus stressed, but he should feel lucky that the wound was not more serious.

Irene sighed in relief and then in frustration—what would she tell Eddis? She had almost gotten Eddis’s thief killed after such thief had helped her regain her power. She had also previously cut-off such thief’s right hand. As loathe as Irene was to admit it, she was in Eddis’s debt in this very tentative alliance.

While Eugenides slept, Irene went about the business of re-ordering her court. Teleus had emerged from where Eugenides had stashed him as soon as he’d heard the calamity in the throne room and had been there in time to see his queen faint. She quickly reinstated him, demoted Gallus and instructed Teleus to find a far-off and unimportant post for him.

The Medes were more difficult. There were several hundred of them in the city and Irene could not have her soldiers constantly guarding them here in the city indefinitely. She would have to find a place to house them as well as the Mede soldiers from Iobates until the Mede emperor bargained for their return.

But all of that didn’t require her immediate attention—Nahuseresh was restrained, his soldiers had been incapacitated and she had Eddis as an ally. Well, potentially as an ally until she found out about her thief, but perhaps she had a solution to that.

She found herself walking back over to the room housing Eugenides. Irene had her attendants bring her dinner there and she stayed until the sky began to move from dark blue to black and Eugenides slowly began to stir.

When he first opened his eyes, he tensed up and then deliberately, he forced his body to relax.

“Attolia,” he said carefully.

“Eugenides,” she said.

“I see that I survived,” Eugenides said, an attempt at levity.

“Yes, although I think that Eddis will be displeased at how you have been treated.”

Eugenides did not dispute it.

“I have a proposition for you,” Irene said. “I have two problems. The first is that I find myself in need of this alliance with Eddis. The second is that you know too many secrets of my palace. There is a way to solve both.” Eugenides thought through her words and comprehension dawned on his face, one eyebrow rising in surprise.

“Is that the reason for this proposition?” Eugenides said. He asked it plainly, without any judgment.

Irene sighed and found herself unable to meet Eugenides’s eyes. “Partly,” she said. When she looked down at Eugenides, he had a small smile on his face and the tips of his ears had a faint blush.

“We both have similar problems that may be an issue,” Eugenides pointed out. Irene startled—she had not realized that Eugenides had married. For a second, she felt a white-hot frisson of jealousy wash through her, although she had no claim to him. And why shouldn’t he have a beloved back home—he had said as much when he had been here with the Sounisians.

But then Eugenides gently touched her hand, startling her out of her thoughts. “It’s not—not really like that,” he said, and he was almost laughing. “I do not think that she will be surprised. Sad, maybe, but not surprised.”

Irene took this in and Eugenides looked at her again. “My path will be easier—I will be able to have my marriage annulled.” Eugenides looked quizzical. “My husband has found himself afflicted with odd symptoms since the announcement of our engagement. He was not the only one with a plan to move forward.”

Irene tried not to preen at Eugenides’s impressed look.

“Please ask me formally,” Eugenides said.

Irene frowned. “Excuse me?”

“If I’m going to say yes, I would like to know exactly what I am agreeing to.”

Irene glared at Eugenides, but he met her eyes.

“Would you marry me?” she said, imbuing the words with every degree of hauteur that she possessed.

“I would like that,” he said, smiling and then he opened her hand for her to lace their hands together.


End file.
